


Four times Geralt wakes up his bard with kisses

by Samtree



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Kaer Morhen, Love Confession, M/M, Morning After, Nightmares, Past Torture, Sleeping Beauty Curse, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, wrist kisses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29696877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samtree/pseuds/Samtree
Summary: ...and the other time when Jaskier returns the favorA collection of morning smooches, fairytale curses, homecoming, distressing dreams, and finally, a slice of a simple life by the coast.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 97





	1. morning after

Geralt wakes up to the bright morning sun and an armful of bard.

Light casts through the window, illuminating specks of dust in the air. The warm smell of sunlight mixes with the fancy lavender soup that Jaskier uses on his hair. Soft snores come from the bard himself, still in deep sleep despite it being near mid-day.

A lazy smile tugs at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. He takes a deep breath while tightening his hold around Jaskier, their limbs intertwining.

Last night’s memory replays in Geralt’s mind, stirring up something warm and cozy in Geralt’s chest. He kissed Jaskier under a dark winter sky in the middle of the bard’s typical rant about music. He was passionately listing all the up-and-coming artists and their songs at the last bardic festival when Geralt desperately needed some quiet. He had to find a way to shut the bard up somehow.

Without thinking, he did it with his lips.

It was desperate and rushed, with a bruising force and urgency. And it definitely did the job because Jaskier was stunned for a moment after Geralt pulled away, reeling from the surprise.

Before panic could settle in Geralt’s mind, thinking maybe it was all a huge miscalculation, Jaskier broke into a grin and leaned in again. The second kiss was sweet and long. In the cool winter air, Jaskier’s cheek was soft and rosy under the brush of Geralt’s thumb.

They quickly stumbled back into their inn room, panting and teasing each other while taking off their clothes.

“I see you’ve finally found a way to shut me up,” Jaskier said, after sucking a bruised mark on Geralt’s pulse point.

“I haven’t if you’re still talking.”

They both chuckle as their fingers find the buckles on Geralt’s armor, removing them with unprecedented efficiency.

The night was cold and long, and they found a way of warming each other up in that small inn room with a bed barely big enough for the two of them.

Now Geralt lies on his side with Jaskier’s head pillowed on his arm, his hair mussed and sticking to all directions. Relaxed and asleep, the bard’s eyelashes flutter as he dreams. There has always been a boyish quality in Jaskier’s features, but now as he lies bare and unguarded, he looks even younger than his actual age.

Geralt reached out to tuck away a strand of stray hair on Jaskier’s forehead when the bard leans into the touch a little, nuzzling Geralt’s palm. The smile on Geralt’s face grows wider at the affection shown by Jaskier even in sleep. The trust he places in Geralt is still mind-blowing whenever the Witcher rediscovers it. Watching the fragile-by-nature human curl up to his chest like it’s the safest place on earth makes something in Geralt’s stomach flutter out of control.

Silently, he runs a hand up and down Jaskier’s back to wake him. No matter how much Geralt would like to stay in this dream-like bubble, it is time for them to leave for the next town.

Jaskier lets out a soft groan without rousing and burrows further under the blanket. His brows scrunch up in the most endearing way from the bright sunlight on his face. Taking pity on him, Geralt presses a kiss to his forehead, right between the little frown.

“Time to get up, lazy bard,” he murmurs.

When Geralt pulls back, he is met with blue eyes clear as the sky and a dazed smile.

“Good morning,” Jaskier exhales, his eyes fluttering shut again.

“No, Jaskier. Don’t fall asleep.” Geralt stays stern but it only manages to draw a whine out of the bard, who then shifts his leg on top of Geralt’s hip to keep him in place. It leaves the Witcher no other option but to place another wet kiss on Jaskier’s forehead, and then moves on to his eyelid, the soft skin on his temple, his flushed cheek and finally, his lips.

This time Jaskier wakes up properly, returning the drawn-out, lazy kiss with a passion until they are panting in tandem.

“You should wake me up like this more often.” Jaskier beams while catching his breath. “I don’t mind it one bit, and I won’t complain anymore even if you make us travel before dawn.”

Geralt only glares at him. The contented grin on Jaskier’s face is so cheeky it has no right to make Geralt’s heart swell three sizes in his chest.

“Somehow I doubt it.”


	2. sleeping beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bard is hit with the sleeping beauty curse. Geralt reveals the feelings he's been harboring.

“…I wish you could enjoy the irony, Butcher, but you will be too dead for it,” the mage says while casting an intricate curse with his hands. A flash of light comes towards Geralt before he pirouettes and deflects it with his steel sword.

Behind him comes a pained gasp. Geralt turns around in shock to see Jaskier in the distance, stumbling and collapsing onto the ground, his eyes wide and panicked.

“G’ralt –” he whimpers in pain before passing out.

 _No_. The bard was not supposed to come this close. _Damn him_.

Geralt clenches his jaw and rushes toward Jaskier, kneels next to him and cradles his head in his lap. The bard turns pale and lifeless in a matter of seconds, his head slacked and lolling to the side. Luckily, a faint heartbeat is still there, slowing down almost like he is falling into a deep slumber.

Whatever the curse is, it’s powerful.

“I thought your business was with me.” Geralt grits his teeth. “The bard has nothing to do with it.”

“Regardless,” the mage spits venom, “The lesson stays true. Witchers are heartless beings, and I am only doing the Continent a favor by ridding it of you. Or at least, revealing your true nature.”

“Lift your spell right this second, or I’ll show you my true nature.”

Geralt’s patience is running out, and the state of Jaskier’s coma is churning up something ugly from the dark corners of his mind.

The mage only smirks. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Witcher, I cast a spell that can only be lifted by what you will never have. It can only be broken by _love_.”

Geralt’s heart skips a beat.

“I would have sent you into eternal sleep. You see, Butcher, there isn’t a single person on this Continent who can ever love you. No one could ever wake you with the kiss of true love. You’d be as good as dead. Now –” The mage carries on. “No matter, the bard bears your fate, but the people will still see what you are. A monster who hasn’t an ounce of love in his heart, the real _curse_ for whoever dares walk beside you.”

Clarity settles like a heavy blanket. _The kiss of true love._

Oh.

Geralt moves his gaze from the mage’s smug face to the sleeping bard in his arms. Jaskier’s eyelashes cast long shades on his pale cheeks, his breathing even and barely there.

Relief washes over Geralt.

He’s been pondering about the phrase for a few months now, but hasn’t told Jaskier, fearing the bard not being ready, fearing that his confession might scare him away.

But Geralt loves him. He loves Jaskier with all his heart, and now he is the most grateful for it.

The mage is going to be so mad.

Geralt leans down to kiss those soft lips, hoping to pour his feelings through the gentle contact. Tentatively, he pulls back and opens his eyes. A sliver of doubt still makes him wonder that it’s not going to work – that his heart is not enough – but the most beautiful sky blue meets him in answer.

It seems _this Witcher_ is capable of it after all.

“Did you just…” Jaskier asks weakly, “I feel like a princess from a fairytale.”

A chuckle rumbles out of Geralt’s chest.

“I love you.” Geralt whispers into Jaskier’s ear, with a reverence that surprises even himself. “But let me deal with something else first.”

Jaskier squeezes his arm in reassurance before standing up with the help of Geralt’s steady hold. Warmth flows in the blue of Jaskier’s eyes when he answers.

“I love you too, my ridiculous Witcher.”

With a contented smile, Geralt picks up his sword and turns to face the now horrified mage.


	3. found home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaer Morhen looms in the distance. Geralt has to wake a sleeping Jaskier who is still recovering from the tortures of Nilfgaard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions injuries and past torture.

Roach’s gait is slow yet steady, the cadence calming Geralt’s wandering mind as they trudge up the Blue Mountains.

Jaskier is sitting in front of Geralt on the mare’s back, his solid weight leaning back on Geralt’s chest. His head burrows into the Witcher’s neck, the soft brown hair occasionally tickling his chin. The bard remains asleep, just like he has been for the past hour, his breathing even but slightly labored, with soft snores here and there.

The late autumn wind picks up again, taking the last of the faded leaves from their branches and up towards the sky. It’s weeks until winter yet. The trek to Kaer Morhen stays wide open with no risk of them being kept out by early snow, but the coldness is relentless.

Geralt adjusts the thick woolen coat around Jaskier, making sure he’s bundled up enough to not let the frigid air creep in. His right arm tightens around Jaskier’s waist protectively so the bard’s wounds are not jostled further by riding on horseback.

At the back of his mind, Geralt wonders again if it’s a good idea, returning early to Kaer Morhen and let Jaskier heal his injuries in the keep.

He is still not fit for travel after all, with barely closed gashes all over his torso and the cracked ribs, giving him trouble whenever he moves. Even now Geralt can hear his breath hitch in pain whenever Roach steps on uneven ground.

Staying in one place until Jaskier fully recovers would have been ideal if not for Nilfgaard following at their heels. It was a judgment call to go straight up the Kaedwen Mountains, to find safety first and leave everything else to later.

The past couple of days have been rough on Jaskier. Walking is near impossible for the bard because of his ribs, but even riding on Roach leaves him exhausted and in pain. Every day when Geralt changes the bandages he can see the wounds not heal properly and stitches pulled. Something as mundane as camping on the forest floor has become an ordeal. Jaskier remains restless until dawn because the cold ground digs into his bruised side, making him more tired the next day.

The worst of it is that Jaskier doesn’t complain anymore.

He hasn’t since Geralt rescued him from the tortures of Nilfgaard. His typical rant about minor discomfort on the road is replaced by complete silence. He tries to grit his teeth through cramps and bouts of pain, but Geralt’s senses are too sharp to miss how miserable he is. The smell of hurt and exhaustion permeates the air around him, but when asked, Jaskier only unfurls his brows and reassures Geralt with a tight smile.

A million years ago Geralt would have appreciated the lack of complaints and whines. _Blessed silence_ , that’s what he asked for when they first met. But now it leaves him hollow and wrong-footed. At least Jaskier can get some rest like this, cocooned between Geralt’s arms. It seems to be the only place where he feels safe enough to relax and catch up on the lost sleep at night.

Deep in thoughts, Geralt suddenly notices the keep looming in the distance, the greyish hue almost blending in with the foggy sky. The Witcher turns his attention back to the bard, his body warm and pliant, his expression peaceful as if in a good dream.

Geralt almost doesn’t have the heart to wake him, but Vesemir likely has already seen them coming down the road, and the sooner he can get Jaskier in front of a fire the better.

He nuzzles into Jaskier’s neck, inhaling the scent there, before pressing a gentle kiss on the soft skin behind the ear.

“We are here, Jask.” Geralt murmurs while tucking back the bard’s hair and places his lips wherever he can reach. Jaskier leans into the contact with a groan, and wakes with a start. His gaze immediately fixes on the silhouette of Kaer Morhen, wonder replaces the daze from sleep.

“Wow,” he whispers.

Geralt buries his nose in the tousled brown hair and presses one last kiss there. “Alright?”

Jaskier shifts his weight to turn, and baby blue meets Geralt, flowing with warmth. He takes Geralt’s hand on his thigh and continues to rub circles into the Witcher’s palm.

“I am fine, dearest, now that we’ve found home.” he presses both their hands over his heart and squeezes tightly. A tiny smile appears at the corner of his mouth, reassuring and trusting.

Geralt cannot help but smile back at him. Hope rises in his chest, settling the worries that plagued him for days.

 _I did find home_ , Geralt thinks as he looks into Jaskier’s eyes, his fingers squeezing in return.

 _Right here_.


	4. nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt knows Jaskier hasn’t been sleeping well, despite the bard trying to hide his red-rimmed eyes and dark circles. The nightmares are a recent development. It’s like the trauma on his body isn’t enough, his mind has to suffer it over and over again in dreams, making him relive the hurt when he is the most vulnerable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions past torture and nightmares.

Geralt walks down the hallway while shaking off the remaining snow on his clothes.

Warmth hits him as soon as he reaches the library, stinging his frozen fingers and cheeks. The flames crackle in the fireplace, interrupting the peaceful silence along with his heavy footsteps. He halts by the threshold when he sees that he’s not alone in the room.

In the corner of the library, next to a dusty shelf, Jaskier is curled up and dozing on the small settee.

His head is propped up by what looks to be a hundred pillows and facing toward the entrance, which allows Geralt to see his relaxed features. The bard’s cheeks are flushed by the roaring fire, and his lips slack from sleep. His eyelashes flutter ever so slightly, casting long shadows. The rise and fall of his chest are faint under the coat draped over his midsection. The dark winter coat also covers his bent knees, obscuring most of his body from view apart from the arm that rests on top of the thick fabric.

Geralt leans back against the frame, careful not to make a sound, and just watches Jaskier sleep for a moment.

It took a while for Jaskier’s injuries to heal. By the time he could resume his usual chores in the library – something Vesemir assigned him years ago when Geralt brought him to the keep for the first time – heavy snow already settled in. Even now, a full day’s work still tires Jaskier, so it’s not uncommon for him to nap right here by the books.

On top of that, Geralt knows Jaskier hasn’t been sleeping well, despite the bard trying to hide his red-rimmed eyes and dark circles. The nightmares are a recent development. It’s like the trauma on his body isn’t enough, his mind has to suffer it over and over again in dreams, making him relive the hurt when he is the most vulnerable.

Geralt winces at the memories of waking up alone, their bedsheets filled with the stench of fear and panic instead of Jaskier’s usual floral scent. During the long life of a witcher, Geralt rarely feels the powerlessness that overwhelms him in those moments. The enemy is an untangible past that only exists in his lover’s mind.

As if on cue, Jaskier’s steady heartbeat quickens to a frantic speed. His breathing chokes deep in his throat like a silent cry, unable to find release. The signs are too familiar for Geralt to miss the fact that Jaskeir is having yet another nightmare.

He quickly moves to the settee with a few long strides. Dropping to his knees, Geralt’s hand hovers tentatively, not knowing if the touch would be welcome. The smell of pure terror once again fills Geralt’s senses.

“Jask,” he says softly, “Wake up, Jask. You are dreaming.”

At his words, Jaskier seems to calm a little, but still unable to fully wake. So Geralt tries to gently shake him while continuing to whisper comforting words. He traces the line of Jaskier’s forearm, and reaches his hand. Jaskier’s pulse flutters rapidly under Geralt’s fingers, so he plants a light kiss there.

Jaskier wakes with a choked whimper. His eyes snap open, wide and vulnerable, the sky blue pained with tears.

“It’s okay, Jaskier. You are safe. You are not there anymore.” Geralt’s heart breaks when, for a moment, Jaskier doesn’t seem to believe what he’s seeing is real. “I’m here, Jask. It’s just a dream.”

The repetition sounds weak but it clicks behind the glistening blue eyes. In relief, the bard lets out a shuddering breath as the tears fall freely, soaking the mussed hair by his temple.

Geralt presses his lips to the soft skin on Jaskier’s wrist one more time to soothe him, before wiping away the wetness at the corner of his eyes. His hands are still cold from training outside all day, but Jaskier nuzzles into his palm anyway.

Minutes pass as Jaskier’s heartbeat returns to normal. A hint of embarrassment now knits his brows into a frown. Sniffling and composing himself, Jaskier sits up on the settee, pulling Geralt from his knees as well, so they face each other. Jaskier’s gaze is kept down, avoiding Geralt’s concern.

“Your hands are freezing,” he says, voice hoarse from the tears, apparently not wanting to acknowledge his previous distress. “Can’t let a _witcher_ lose his fingers.”

Jaskier tugs Geralt’s hands under the coat and tries to rub some heat back into them, still not looking up. To Geralt’s stiff fingers, it’s like a furnace in there and it sends a nice shiver down his spine.

He knows Jaskier is fussing over him to avoid talking about his dreams, but Geralt still warms at the attention and the soft touches.

Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s warm fingers to stop his motion.

“Jask –”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, a little desperate, “Please, can we – can we not talk about it? Not now.”

He looks up at Geralt, a storm of emotions held back in the sky blue. Geralt cannot deny a plea like this, so he nods and leans forward to let Jaskier rest his head on his shoulder. The bard inhales deeply and sags, completely drained of strength, only supported by the Geralt’s arm.

They breathe in tandem. The crackling of fire is somewhere distant in the background. Right now, Jaskier is safe and sound, free of the violence that plagues his dreams.

The road to recovery is long and winding. They have to talk about it at some point, Geralt knows.

But now, he is content just holding Jaskier close.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are much appreciated!  
> Also you can find me on [tumblr](https://samstree.tumblr.com/).  
> 


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